There, There
by thegirlwhocan
Summary: Post season gr8. The angels have fallen, and Cas is trying to find his way home: he realizes it is not heaven, but with the Winchesters. Meanwhile, the boys think their friend to be dead, and must deal with the implications of losing their angel. Cas returns to them, but will he be welcomed? Things will never quite be the same, with Cas newly human. Destiel if you like. One shot.


There, There

Dean thought Cas was dead for the longest of times. It might have only been a few days, but it felt like forever, and weighed down on him like eternity. When the sky was burning, set alight with angels, he had feared the worst for his friend. He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget that sight: the sky a perfect hue of blue, streaked with blazing lights, the brightest light imaginable to illuminate their tired eyes as they gazed heavenwards. It was like stargazing, or watching falling stars: but it was a very different thing crashing down to Earth. It looked beautiful, so it must have been chaos, or destruction. Those things, destruction and death, were simple; which he supposed, was beautiful in its own right.

On that night, underneath a starless sky, he almost gave up what little hope he had left. Sam was broken; a wreck against the car beside him, and it seemed now that Castiel was gone. If he had any heart left, it was broken in that moment. But eventually, the wind against his skin lessened, and the sky faded to deep blue once more. Everything looked the same as it used to be, but nothing would ever _be_ the same again, not for them. He never looked away from that sky, the lights burning his shattered green eyes, until the last of the blaze had faded. He couldn't look away.

The angels: the mightiest of all beings, had rose so high: now look how far they fell.

After some time, he looked away, to find Sam watching him with the most desperate expression on his face, a look of pure pity. Before he had time to say anything, Dean spoke more strongly than he thought himself able of, "come on, we need to get out of here." To his immense relief, Sam said nothing, co operating immediately to the suggestion. He heaved himself into the impala with obvious pain, so Dean shut the door behind him. In those few moments with Sam safely in the car, as he walked around the back, Dean allowed the pain bursting through every fibre of his being to show. Then he was swinging into the car, masking it too well again, as they pulled down the dirt road.

* * *

_Sorrow._

That's the first thing Castiel remembered. A feeling in his chest, like an ache that consumed his whole soul, a presence he couldn't shake. He wondered why it felt so out of place, then realised the truth: because it was human. The first human emotion he felt, and it was sorrow. Pushing himself to his feet from the layer of pine needles covering the ground, he felt his world turned upside down. Lights from above caught his gaze, and walking into a clearing all became clear, as he saw his brothers and sisters falling all round him. And it hurt. Like nothing he had ever felt, as before only physical pain had ever wracked his bones and that was easily fixed up, like new. Somehow he knew that no amount of healing would fix this pain, for it was the ache of a tortured soul.

The lights were always to bright, too pure for him, so he looked away. It was funny: first there was Dean, who could not look away; then along came Cas, who could not bear to watch. It seemed that someone was needed to bear witness, and if one couldn't look, the other must. Dean was shielding Cas from this without even knowing.

When only darkness filled his closed eyes once more, the angel opened them and once again beheld the world. But it was not the same as before. He used to be able to see infinitely, every centimetre in high definition, every colour vibrant and bursting. Now, it was as if he looked through a lens; all was dulled, drained. He used to be able to hear the beat of a dragonfly's wings, the laugh of a baby five miles away, the beating of a human heart. At that moment, the silence was deafening. He could hear the wind, and some rustling of leaves behind him, his own heart inside his chest, but nothing more. It was almost a relief, as if he had finally found a quiet place to gather his thoughts.

Castiel almost lay down on the pine needles and stayed there forever. It was quiet, the closest to peace he'd ever gotten; he wasn't sure he wanted to leave. But then one thought crossed his mind, the last thing he'd heard before the silence: Dean calling his name. The desperation in his tone, the pain there – it was enough to get him moving. Cas made his way through the forest, guided only by stars, until he reached a road. Then he started following it, and kept walking long into the night, until the forest was left behind him and buildings rose from the ground. He knew one thing in absolute clarity: he was human.

* * *

Two days, and they heard nothing. Two days locked up in that bunker waiting for the world to end. But it kept spinning, so the Winchesters must carry on. But not yet.

Sam slowly came back to life, a long sleep making up for a lot. He woke up on the morning of the second day in bed, covers pulled up to his chin as well as coffee and toast waiting at the foot of the bed on a table. Only Dean could have thought to do that. The coffee was cold, but it still worked, so he drank it all as it filled the emptiness inside of him. Walking to the bathroom, he splashed his face with water before he stared at himself hard in the mirror. He wasn't as pale as before, but his face still looked drawn out and tired. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

Sam walked into the Bunker's main room half an hour later, showered and clean shaven; looking considerably more healthy. Kevin sat on the table, one of the tablets laid out in front of him. He looked like he'd been awake for days, the red bull in front of him evidence of lack of sleep, pages of scrawled notes scattered about the place. Dean sat at the other end of the table, at the edge, taking sips from a bottle of cheap beer. He was staring at the wall, and Sam wondered how long he'd been like that. "Sam," Kevin noticed the younger Winchester had entered the room, and looked up eagerly.

"Go get some sleep, Kevin" Sam nodded.

"But I-"

"Go" Sam ordered softly, tilting his head towards his brother. Kevin, understand the subtext finally, scurried off to his room. He had been working for two days straight, too worried about Dean to leave him alone while Sam was sleeping. Honestly, the kid was delighted to see the taller brother up and walking.

"Whatever you're going to say," Dean said monotonously, without even needing to look up at his brother, "don't."

"Dean, how long have you been there?" Sam asked, holding onto the back of the nearest chair tightly for support. Dean shrugged, still looking at the wall. "Not much else to do" he said.

"And how much have you had to drink?" There was an edge to Sam's voice here.

"Not enough"

"Dean-"

"_Don't_" Finally; the oldest Winchester raised his head. Sam could see lines on his brother's face that weren't there two days before, and the haunted look about him carried its own air. He held Sam's gaze for a second; then dropped his eyes back towards the wall ash he took yet another swig from the bottle. "Just don't"

Sam softened, feeling his brother's pain but unsure what to do to ease it. Ultimately, he felt helpless. "Cas might be gone, Dean" he said quietly.

"So what?" Dean asked angrily, "We just give up on him? _He's family._"

"Of course not, I'm saying that sitting here drinking yourself to death isn't going to help him"

"And what should we do? If Cas is dead, there isn't anything we can do. So what do we do, Sammy? _Pray_ for him? 'Cause I don't know what you've been watching, but there ain't nobody left up there to listen" The crack in Dean's voice was evident, thick with emotion.

"There's got to be something we can do" Sam said, soft in tone, gentle. Dean ignored him.

"How're you feeling, Sammy?" his brother changed the subject immediately, looking up at Sam again. Despite the fact he told himself nothing mattered anymore, an immense relief flooded Dean's heart upon seeing Sam look better. "I'm fine" Sam responded evenly, knowing his breakdown would be fresh in Dean's mind, "are you?" He knew what this would do to his brother. Cas was dead. Hell was open. Nothing looked good right now. "If you're fine, so am I" Dean replied.

"Don't be like that" Sam tried, knowing it was immature. They couldn't both pretend to be okay, that's what got them there in the first place. "Like what?" Dean snapped.

"Acting like you're fine – like you're not hurting"

"You mean like you've been for the past few months?" Dean demanded, getting to his feet. Sam looked away, shame rising in his face. "And look how that worked out" he said bitterly, "fantastically. I'm just saying talk to me."

"About what? My_ feelings_? We're not seven year old girls, Sam." Dean grabbed his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders and heading towards the door. "Where are you going now?" Sam asked, exasperated.

"Out"

"You're drunk, you can't drive like this" Sam sighed.

"Then I'll walk" Dean called over his shoulder.

"Dean!" Sam shouted after him, but his brother was gone, leaving the bunker too empty, the space too big; Sam too alone.

* * *

Cas was having difficulties already. As he walked down the darkened highway, he found himself stumbling, tripping over his own feet; he was unbalanced without his wings. He figured he'd get used to it eventually, learn to walk without them, but he missed their feeling. They had made him feel powerful; invincible – but now he was mortal. It was strange; he had always struggled with the concept of eternity, and what it would be like alone. But now he found himself facing a human death one day, and honestly, he was terrified.

So he kept walking on, towards the only constant thing, his anchor to this world: the Winchesters. He needed something to hold on to, for he had little reasons to go on, but they were one of them. All these years, he had put his faith in all the wrong people: the archangels, Crowley, Metatron: but those two boys had been his true friends all along; the ones he should have trusted. Now, he had put his trust in the wrong person yet again, and caused even more destruction. Cas wondered if he should even run back to the boys, considering all the mess he had caused. Of all things, he didn't want to ruin them too.

* * *

Dean returned hours later, stinking drunk and tripping over his own feet. He could hold his liquor better than anyone he'd ever met, but even he had his limit as to how much alcohol he could consume. It was safe to say he'd reached that limit in the six bars he had visited, drinking enough to fill a bath in just a couple of hours. It felt numb; it was good. With his senses fuzzy, the pain was less noticeable. Still there, always, but almost bearable. He struggled for a few minutes with the key, eventually grinning as it clicked into place, entering the bunker. It was familiar, a home, but now he realized that 'home' was not a place. Maybe it was a person, or people in his case. Sam was his home, his shelter from every storm. They had been together from the start, and wherever his brother was, home was also. But then he met Cas, and home was divided. Sam would always be his home, but now, if home became too much, Dean could find a place to stay with Cas, a second home. His heart divided between places, head aching all the time: it was enough to destroy a man. But now his friend was gone, dead, and the only home left was here. But he had spent too much time running away, so he did so again. He ran away from Sam, who only wanted the best for him. He left him in favour of a bottle and a dirty bar, because he couldn't bear to admit how much he was hurting. How it felt like his lungs had been ripped out, leaving him unable to breathe. How he had been drinking for three days straight and it still wasn't enough; it would never be enough.

How could alcohol ever fill the gap Cas had left? The one who had pulled his ass from hell, saved him so many times, become closer than a brother – finally dead. He had survived it all, every blow, every stab, every shot. Not bad for a little looking guy in a trench coat. Even at the times when he had done wrong, made mistakes – he was still family. That was the fallen angel's legacy, a handprint on their hearts. Cas wasn't perfect in any way, he was flawed, and Dean secretly suspected he'd been on his way to becoming a human for a long time. He just had the habit of putting his trust in the wrong people, including the Winchesters.

Dean crumpled, placing his head against the cool steel door and telling himself to keep breathing. For Sam's sake, he couldn't give in. He closed his eyes, and after a few minutes his breathing went back to normal. He didn't feel so drunk now. Things started coming back to him, memories which cut like blades; he needed another drink. There was whiskey in the cabinet, and beer in the fridge, so he swung the door open and headed in.

Dean Winchester had a hollowness in his gut: the mix between loneliness and nostalgia. There was darkness in that heart too. For a man born for war, he was good at heart: but at the centre of every heart there is darkness. And let me tell you something about darkness: it is patient. It waits for you to break, and when you do it grows into the cracks, rooting its way through every part of you; before you know it, you're a wasteland. In the last few days, the darkness had grown into his cracks, so it was now so deeply rooted onto his soul, growing bigger with every aching, burning moment.

* * *

The road home was always the longest path to tread. But it had the brightest light at the end. Castiel had been walking for two days, through cities and towns, on gravel or dirt or asphalt. He stole food, for it seemed hunger was constant for these beings, but he had no money in exchange for the sustenance. Being a human was hard. His feet ached from walking, sleep deprivation was starting to take hold, and Cas hadn't walked so far in his life. At some point, the surroundings began looking familiar, and soon a road sign confirmed he was in Lawrence, Kansas. He almost smiled. With a renewed hope, he set off, knowing the bunker was not far from here, on the outskirts. One foot in front of the other, he marched onwards.

Through a green wood too dark to see in, Cas tramped a lonely path, then before him, the bunker seemed to materialise from nowhere. Almost entirely obscured by trees, it was hidden one minute, there the next: a safe haven. The steel structure was sound, protected and hidden from all evils. It was the home of the Winchesters, and Cas hoped they would answer. He wondered if they had been praying to him, and thought he wasn't answering them. The angel knew he had to get to them soon, he hoped they could forgive him for all he had done. He didn't think he deserved forgiveness, but he needed them, as he always would do. But would they want him, graceless and a disgrace? Would they even want him around anymore? Or would they turn him away at the door?

He reached the door of the bunker, but paused before knocking. Castiel, the fallen angel, was scared. But whether it was of being human or being alone, he did not know. He guessed it was time to find out.

* * *

Sam sat alone in the bunker, feet up on the table as he ate masses of junk food. Normally, he was a health nut, but for some reason it felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks, and he was starving. He might regret eating so much in a few days, and go jogging to make up for it, but right now he was content. Kevin was asleep, Sam had checked earlier, shutting the young boy's door behind him. Poor kid looked beaten. They all did.

Sam picked away at various junk, eating with his fingers until he was full, before pulling at a cool beer as he sat. He felt better, surprisingly. Healthier than he had done at the trials, at least: the sleep and food had done him a world of good. Now all that was left was Dean. He looked around apprehensively, feeling self-conscious, before speaking. "I speak to the angel Castiel, if he may hear me: answer this prayer." Formal beginning over, he spoke normally, an edge creeping into his tone. "It's me, Cas. Can you hear me? Are you even listening?" Sam looked up as he spoke; speaking to the sky although he knew Cas dwelled there no longer. He sighed, "Cas, I don't know what's going on up there, but I need you to be okay. Dean – he's not good. Really not good. I don't know where you are, or where your heads at right now – but come home, Cas. Whatever's happened, we can fix it. If you're alive, I just need you to come back-" He broke off, voice cracking as his shoulders slumped.

There was a knock at the door.

* * *

Sam answered, surrounded by the yellow lights from inside, face switching from confusion to delight as he took in the angel standing on their front porch. It was Cas. "Wait, you heard me?" Sam asked, breathless.

"What?" Cas asked bewildered, and Sam knew straight away his prayers were unheard.

"Nothing," He shook his head slightly, smiling at the irony. Cas didn't even need the angel radio to show up at the right time. "It's so good to see you, Cas."

"You too, you're looking better" Cas commented with a nod, noticing the younger Winchester looked a lot healthier than the last time they had met, "the effects of the trials are wearing off."

They turned to make their way into the bunker, but only made it to the entrance hall before Cas, still unbalanced, tripped and fell. Sam swung around quickly, managing to catch him before he hit the ground and steady the angel, a hand upon his chest to hold him upright. "Woah there Cas, are you okay?"

"Just unsteady, thank you" the angel nodded, looking drunk although he was perfectly sober. Sam was still holding him up, and looked genuinely touched for a second, realizing that Cas was real; he was there. Sam held his hands on the angel's shoulders, "What's wrong?"

The angel looked up, sadness in his lost eyes, "I'm human."

* * *

When Dean entered the bunker, the lights were still on, shedding light through the bookcases and shelves. He held up a hand against the light, for it hurt his eyes, but through his fingertips he saw an impossible sight. Heart skipping a beat, he lowered his hand, blinking continuously to check it was not a dream. In front of him stood Sam . . . and a familiar trench coated figure. "Cas" he said, voice cracked. He put a hand to his head, rubbing his drunk eyes which were deceiving him, and told himself that when he looked up, Cas wouldn't be there. But he was, looking confused and the same as ever with his head tilted to one side. Shaking his head, Dean walked quickly over to him, poking Cas slowly in the chest. The angel was solid, real. _Alive_. "Hello, Dean" the angel said, his deep drawl quite possibly the best sound ever in that moment. Instantly, Dean went from poking his friend to throwing his arms around him, squeezing him so tightly, the air was crushed from Castiel's lungs. Dean closed his eyes, holding back tears, at seeing his friend safe, and hugged tighter. Sam allowed a small smile to grow on his face as he watched; thinking things might be okay after all. Cas, although shocked at the sudden affection, tensed then relaxed into the embrace. "Cas" Dean kept saying over and over, "you're alive."

Afterwards, they sat on the table, late into the night now, as Cas told them his story. "What? So you're human now?" Dean asked when he was finished; face a picture of confusion and sympathy. "It would seem so" the fallen angel nodded, "although if I got my grace back like Anna, I could still be of some use"

"Use? _Use?_ You think that matters, Cas?" Dean said, getting angry now. Did Cas really think they only wanted him around for his powers? Did he really think that little of them? "Without my grace," Cas admitted, looking down, "I was afraid you wouldn't want me."

"How could you think that?" Sam asked, but he was not angry like his brother, just sad Cas thought he had no one left. The angel shrugged.

"What? You don't know? Damn it, Cas" Dean swore, getting to his feet in frustration. He stood over the angel now; eyes alight and body tense, coiled like a spring. And the spring was close to exploding. "I'm sorry, Dean" Cas tried earnestly.

"You say that too often" the hunter spat back.

"What do you want? Because I can fix this, I caused it! My brothers and sisters are all fallen and _it's my fault_. I can't even find them to help them – I'm useless!" Cas said equally forcefully, a new emotion rising from his gut. It was so human, and it was rage; it was despair; but mostly it was guilt. Disbelief crossed the older Winchesters face in full force. "It doesn't matter that you lost your grace," Dean shouted emotionally, "You're still our saving one." The tears glistening in his eyes almost fell, but he refused to let them, looking embarrassed at what he'd just said. He looked down then spoke again, more quietly, "and you're still family, no matter what."

Dean started walking away, so the angel spoke again. "The last thing I heard as an angel was you, Dean"

"What?"

"You called my name as I fell. And it was the worst feeling, like nothing you could imagine, but I still heard you. And I still came, like I always do, because you called."

Dean looked around, his expression hurting. "Yeah, you did. I'm sorry too" he sighed ruefully.

Something changed on Castiel's face then, an emotion he had never felt or expressed before. It was warm, similar to joy but different somehow, more personal. He half smiled, lips twitching of their own accord, eyes softening. It was the first positive human emotion he had felt; and the moment he truly became human. It was affection, or hope, or family. Whatever that feeling was, it made everything better, and there was a light at the end of a dark place. Cas thought that perhaps falling wasn't so bad when you had someone like this to catch you. "Thank you" he said quietly. Dean looked up, surprised at the turn; their eyes met, and they all knew it would be alright eventually. "We can fix this," Sam reminded them gently, "all of it."

"Maybe it's not so bad if we don't" Cas said, smiling back at him.

* * *

That was the first time Castiel, the fallen angel who fell again and again for the Winchesters, always getting back to his feet, knew where home was. For his whole life, he thought it was heaven, the cold place he was born; the place his family by blood once resided. But if there was one thing he'd learnt in the past few years, it was that family wasn't blood: it was the people who picked you up when you fell the furthest. And home was wherever they were. His home was no longer heaven, and that was sad, but at the same time, it was hopeful. It was the means to start over and get it right this time. From now on, his home was this Earth; at the Winchester's side. It had been for a long while, but he had been too weak to admit it. Humanity was stronger than he had expected. It was the backbone of the universe; he saw what was worth fighting for. The angels looked down on humans, thinking themselves above them because of their powers and grace, but hey missed the whole point of humanity: their power lay in their ability to love, and their will to survive. He hoped that if one good thing came of all this, it was that the angels would realize the true meaning of humanity, and when they returned home to heaven, they would work to protect it better than before.

But for him, home would always be there, riding in the car with his boys, having found his true family at last.

* * *

So, things got better for them. It took weeks, months even, but they found each other again, falling into old routines with the same ease and finding strength in their broken little family. They were on the highway to hell, but at least they had good company.

Cas and Dean worked things out, talking honestly for the first time in years a few weeks later, senses dulled by whiskey and emotions on the surface. It turned out Cas could get properly drunk now. Sam got healthy again, and thrived without the impact of the trials. He even felt that his confession before the third trial had been a blessing, for he felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was true that words can heal. They were a family, and a messed up one, but they knew how to cope with tough times. Slowly, things returned to normal. Everything died down, and they got back to work. Solving Cases, Teaching humanity: their new Family Business.

Times were bad, but they had reasons to laugh. Teaching Cas how to be normal was one of them. He was still as awkward as ever. He tripped over his own feet, missing the feel of his wings. He still didn't get their jokes, and was always laughing at the wrong times. He would try to do normal things like get dressed or buy groceries, and end up tangled or arrested. Sometimes, he would forgot he was human, therefore needing sleep, and not stop until he collapsed asleep on the floor, or on the couch, or on plastic chairs at whatever motel they were at that day. When they found him like that, passed out and peaceful, the boys would laugh and cover him up, tucking his trench coat around him. Although he changed clothes now, he still wore the coat every day; it was part of who he was. It was familiar, it was Cas. Despite it all, he remained like himself. Castiel: their saving angel, now a human but still every bit as important as before, at least to them. He always would be, because he was Cas.

In short, they moved on. The day the angels fell became just another story, just another step on a long road to redemption. They tried to solve it, to find the fallen angels out there and help them as much as they could, but until they found a way back to heaven there wasn't much to be done. Well, nothing except to be human. And maybe that wasn't so bad, after all.


End file.
